by Ryan King
The room erupted in a confusion of voices with several proclaiming that they felt the JP was ready for anything Sampson’s forces could throw against them. Reggie sensed the conversation was getting close to heated topics he’d rather not have discussed yet.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," cried Reggie, "let's table this discussion until our next meeting. This topic is obviously very serious and I believe we could make a more enlightened decision after we've all had time to carefully consider the situation."
They had grudgingly agreed, but Reggie could tell this would be a hot topic at any future meeting. The meeting covered a few more mundane matters and then adjourned.
As they were walking out, Anderson caught up to Reggie. The General’s face was deadly serious. “If we just cut the WTR off, there’s liable to be war between us and we’re not ready for that, I promise you.”
Reggie looked long at Anderson before speaking. “I know. But they’ll not submit to the WTR’s bullying…too proud. We’ll have to figure something out.”
Reggie turned to walk away and Anderson asked after him, “What do you want me to do for now about Sampson?”
“For now, simply stall him. Keep giving him the electricity, but don’t push for any compensation. We don’t really want it now and may need that pretext to cut them off eventually.”
Reggie turned back and saw that Anderson’s face appeared strained. Reggie continued, “And you say we’re not ready for a war. I hear you, but you damn well better get us ready in a hurry, because I think it’s coming, ready or not.”
President Philips walked slowly back up towards the surface, his load much heavier than it was before.
Chapter 15 – The Spymaster
No one really knew Ethan Schweitzer’s history, only that he was a single retiree. Before N-Day no one gave him a passing thought. Ethan was an unassuming small and slight older man with a bald head. Most people considered him harmless except for those who looked into his piercing blue eyes and hesitated, sensing danger there.
Ethan kept to himself except when he came to town for groceries and an occasional meal at the diner. He didn’t cause any trouble and the residents of the small West Tennessee town left him alone. Word was he had worked for the government, but no one really knew more than that, nor cared for that matter.
The truth was Ethan had recently retired after thirty-five years of distinguished work in the National Clandestine Service, with multiple tours overseas and in high threat areas. He was a master at his trade, but in his retired life that meant nothing because no one could know what it was he did.
That all changed on N-Day. He knew the chaos and danger that would come even as neighbors stood in their yards and exchanged pitiful bits of half-truths and what-ifs. Ethan identified the man who would be in charge, there was always one, and offered his services to him.
That man was General Jeb Sampson. The establishment of the West Tennessee Republic was something Ethan helped create and took considerable pride in. To be honest with himself, Ethan admitted that N-Day was a blessing for him. He gave everything in devoted service and never allowed himself to make attachments. After retirement, he found himself alone, but without the familiar duty. The end of the world had probably saved him from at best a lonely and miserable existence…or at worse, a bullet in the brain.
Sampson was a man of unlimited power in the West Tennessee Republic as only military dictators could be. Ethan had seen it dozens of times in dozens of sad places around the world. The only difference here was Ethan was helping the dictator become much more powerful. It was his idea to establish martial law, universal conscription, and to suspend all basic rights. Ethan recommended seizing the huge army depot at Milan and the Marine and Navy airbase at Meridian. The weapons and equipment allowed them to outfit an army, which would be instrumental in rebuilding the new world.
Ethan was currently walking to Sampson’s headquarters to report what he'd just learned. Sampson had invested Ethan with power, not only in intelligence collection, but also in internal security. Ethan’s spidery web of informants and influence had already spread thoroughly and firmly throughout the Republic and into neighboring lands. What Ethan would tell Sampson came from one of his most reliable and well-placed sources.
As Ethan approached the large squat building, the guards stood aside and opened the door for him. He walked down the hall and silently slipped into the back of a shadowy conference room where there was already a briefing in session. Ethan could barely see the man’s face for the dim light cast by the electric lamps.
Ethan waited patiently as the briefing droned on, but at one point he caught Sampson’s eye who abruptly ended the meeting and sent everyone out of the room. He knew better than to ask Ethan’s business publicly. The men and women filed out of the room quickly, giving Ethan curious looks. Most had seen him around Sampson, but did not know his role.
As the last person left the room, Ethan slowly closed the door and then came to sit beside the tense and physically imposing general.
Gruffly, as was normal for him, Sampson got right to the point. “What is it Ethan? Must be important if you came in here to tell me.”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan cleared his head of scattered thoughts and focused on the information. “Mr. Reginald Philips has been formally selected to lead the JP. Sounds like it wasn’t his idea, that it was forced upon him, but I don’t want to underestimate him. It could have been well choreographed.”
“General Anderson seems to think highly of him,” replied Sampson. “I tried to rattle his chain and get him to say something bad about the man the last time we met, but he wouldn’t do it. That means something.”
“Word is that Anderson is loyal to Philips. Also, Anderson is working hard to build the military up and they have gotten their hands on a lot of equipment from Fort Campbell,” Ethan explained. “I’m still working on getting a more detailed list of what they've procured.”
“Pretty damn smart,” remarked Sampson while looking at Ethan pointedly. “We probably should have thought of that, could have deprived them even if we didn’t need it.”
Ethan ignored the jab and continued on. “Most disturbing, they are seriously considering cutting off our electricity over not giving them their payments.”
Sampson’s face took on a hard look as Ethan knew it would. This was a touchy subject. Sampson considered the dam, and its electricity, everyone’s right and not just that of the JP.
Sampson growled through clenched teeth, “Damn them!" He sat silently for a moment thinking. "Well, I guess we known this day would come. We’ve been holding off paying them as long as possible. We’ll just have to give them something and stall some more until our plans are ready.”
“Yes, General, but there is something else,” continued Ethan. “They have decided the electricity they give us is worth more than anything we can pay. They intend to use the lack of compensation as the reason to cut us off. They don’t want the payments.”
Sampson slapped his hand down and snarled, “They wouldn’t dare!”
Ethan added, “Evidently, Anderson recommended against such a course of action, believing it rash.”
“Wise man,” said Sampson. “What was the final outcome?”
“Philips tabled the discussion until the next meeting, but the proposal appears to be gathering steam.”
Sampson thought for a moment and then smiled. “Well there’s only one thing to be done.”
Ethan looked at Sampson quizzically, “Sir?”
“Guess we better pay them what they're owed,” said Sampson angrily through a wolf-like grin.
Chapter 16 – Hancock
There were probably two dozen people gathered outside on wooden picnic tables around a small radio. Batteries were becoming scarce, but no one was going to miss a broadcast of Tim Reynolds’ WKPO Voice of the Jackson Purchase. People talked quietly, not wanting to miss the break in the static that signaled the beginning of the show.
Harold Buchannan sat at one of the
tables thinking how strange the world was now. Not many months ago he was simply in charge of security at Hancock State Prison, then he became the warden by default, and now seemed to find himself the unnamed, but very real, leader of everyone who remained at the prison.
It had been a few weeks since they had taken care of the prisoner problem. The seven men on death row were executed along with the nineteen serving life sentences without the possibility of parole. Another eight were executed for attempted murder, or in one sad case successful murder, of prison guards since N-Day. The remaining two hundred and twenty-two prisoners were released after a board screening. Most simply expressed a desire to go home to whatever families they might have. Harold believed the majority of them. Despite this, he took certain precautions.
The parolees were given a blanket, some water, and a little food. They were released individually at five minute intervals to walk the one main road south or north out of the small town. Any man who returned, or was seen in the town of Hancock after sunset, would be shot on sight. Harold also released the least violent men first to give them time to get on the road before the more dangerous types came after. Many begged to stay, and probably would have behaved themselves, but Harold just could not think of them as anything other than convicts and the first rule of prison administration was never trust a con.
The town residents of Hancock weren’t happy with the plan, but understood the need. The majority of the National Guard troops had long since melted away and people didn’t like the idea of a bunch of hardened criminals in their neighborhood. The towns’ folk lined the main street with their guns and helped funnel the men out of town. Harold insisted on civility, but in a couple of cases that was simply too much to ask. At least a dozen inmates were beaten badly before they could get away and one was killed in what was likely misplaced fear, anger, and frustration over the uncertain future. The process took three days, but they were all now long gone and Harold prayed he had not unleashed a scourge onto the pitiful remnants of society.
Some of the guards and workers left after the releases, but most stayed, moving into Hancock Prison with their families now that there was more space. Hancock Prison in effect became a castle. It was secure from the outside with an ample supply of guns and ammunition. The looming problem was their dwindling food supply. They had enough for several months, but doing the math, Harold knew they would run out eventually. It would be easy to just ignore this impending crisis, but Harold realized a problem ignored eventually returned home in spades. He had an idea, but needed something he currently didn’t possess to make it work.
Harold’s musings were interrupted by the break in the static and the crowd around the tables immediately became silent, leaning in close. A bright, clear, and Lord Almighty almost cheerful voice came over the radio.
“Good afternoon friends. This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO, bringing you the broadcast of The Voice of the Jackson Purchase. The local time is 1 P.M. and the date is 15 February, exactly one hundred and thirty-eight days since N-Day. This signal is transmitting on 930 and 1620 megahertz.” The voice continued on with little pause or inflection; Tim was obviously reading from an all-too-familiar script. “This broadcast will take approximately eighteen minutes and the next broadcast will commence tomorrow at 1 PM subject to any technical difficulties. Should there be technical problems, listen in at this station at exactly 1 PM on subsequent days. I also want to remind you we will have a special broadcast with newly elected JP President Reggie Philips at noon this Friday before our regular show.”
There was a pause as if Tim were shuffling through papers in front of him before he continued on, “The JP County Cooperative Committee has asked me to remind everyone of the vast importance of paying their allotted taxes and also to apologize for the inconvenience of the very narrow electricity hours. They also want to urge everyone to attempt to pool their resources to make them go further. They have additionally asked that people refrain from buying and selling fuel illegally which only hurts us all in the long run. Anyone caught engaging in such activity will be fined heavily.”
Harold and the others looked at each other slightly in awe. They had electricity and paid taxes. Government was evidently alive and well in the JP.
Tim coughed in a slightly uncomfortable manner before going on. “President Philips has also asked me to remind all those listeners out there who are not part of the JP that the borders are closed. The situation may change in time, but for now the security situation is simply too dire. He also states that people are discouraged from traveling to any of the refugee camps along the border and not to believe the stories that food and medical care are provided there. Mr. Philips stresses that people are better off where they are than at one of these dangerous camps. Only individuals who can prove they, or their immediate family, permanently reside within the JP will be admitted. No exceptions.”
Harold smiled to himself. Those sly dogs. They were obviously taking care of the people in those camps at least to some degree, but didn’t want the camps to swell more than they already were. They might also be letting people in regardless, especially if they possessed special skills, but he couldn’t count on that.
Tim Reynolds was continuing on, but Jim Meeks’ gigantic frame suddenly thundered up to him in a huff. “Boss, I need you now.”
“Now?” asked Harold. “The broadcast will be over soon.”
“Sorry, boss. Now.”
Harold saw the serious look on Jim’s face and asked no more questions. “Everyone keep listening and fill me in on whatever I miss,” Harold walked quickly after Jim.
Harold tried to catch up to Jim, but he was moving too fast through the corridors and up the stairs. Harold figured out that he was leading him to the guard tower overlooking the prison’s main entrance. He followed Jim’s big figure out into the open sunlight and saw two guards with rifles ready looking down.
“Any change?” asked Jim.
“None. Just stands there,” answered the guard to the left.
Harold looked down and saw a squat muscular man with long scraggly hair and unkempt graying beard in an overcoat looking calmly up at them. He appeared ready to ask them some innocuous question such as what the best diner was in town, or what the price of gas was at the local CITGO.
“He walked up about ten minutes ago and just stood there,” said Jim. “Doesn’t look armed, but the men have spotted at least a half dozen others off in those ditches and woods across the road.” Jim pointed south.
“How did he get through the outer fence?” asked Harold.
“Must have crawled under by the gully,” said the other guard, “we don’t take care of the fence the way we used to, animals and such come under I’m sure.”
Harold looked at the man below him for a long time, and without turning his head asked Jim, “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know, boss,” Jim seemed to be searching for words. “I don’t like it, I can tell you that,” he again seemed to be troubled. “It just isn’t normal!” he said in exasperation.
Harold almost laughed. “Normal? Are you crazy? What the hell is normal anymore?”
“That’s not what I mean.” Jim looked away and then looked back with comprehension. “Look, we’re a big building with high walls and fences and guards with guns and this guy just strolls up as easy as you please. To top it off, he just looks so damn calm and cool. It’s like he’s done this a hundred times or something and knows what to expect. It just isn’t normal,” he repeated.
Harold looked back down and stared at the man who met his gaze levelly. “Well, I’ve got something for him he won’t expect…I guarantee it. Let's bring him in.”
Chapter 17 - Captured
Nathan was nervous. They could have gone around the big prison, but people were obviously living there and might help Nathan and his family…or whoever these people were could sneak out behind them after they passed and ambush them. Nathan decided it was better to meet them on his own terms.
He
arranged everyone in pairs out of sight. Bethany and the boys had been through this plenty of times before and knew their roles, but the others were new, so Nathan went over everything in great detail. He used a makeshift model on the ground to illustrate individual location and duties.
Following the briefing, Nathan wiggled under one edge of the fence-line and walked up to within thirty yards or so of the wall. He noticed several pairs of eyes watching from above during his long exposed approach, but none of them said anything…only stared. Nathan thought that was probably a good sign. Disciplined men were not normally rash.
Nathan was determined to let them make the first move now that he was in position. He would stay still and quiet until they said or did something. He did not have to wait long.
After about ten minutes, two men appeared at the top of the wall, one huge and menacing-looking, the other older and smaller in comparison. The second man wore an eye patch and was likely in charge. He saw the big man earlier giving directions to the guards before walking away. Big Man now pointed Nathan out to Mister One Eye, who regarded Nathan calmly. He then turned and spoke to the other men and several moved off quickly. One Eye turned back and watched Nathan silently.
Soon four men returned to the top of the wall, spoke together and then spread out. Nathan began to grow uneasy. He thought of taking off his hat in order to give the signal, but there were too many for Joshua to hit and Nathan thought it best to play this scenario cool. The four men reappeared along the length of the wall together and brought up short stubby guns. They were not pointing at Nathan, but high and to his rear.
There was just enough time to recognize they were grenade launchers and that they were aiming towards his family before they fired with four muffled thumps. Nathan spun around to look and could track the projectiles in the air, but they went high and came down only about forty yards to Nathan’s rear, far short of his family’s positions. Not explosions, he noticed, but grey smoke came billowing out.